"What do I ask?" repeated the enamoured knight: "I ask you to bestow upon me this fair hand."
"How can I refuse you, Sir Christopher?" sighed the lady. "You are so killing!"
"Am I, dearest!" ejaculated the knight; and, encouraged more than ever by this assurance, he boldly kissed his companion. But almost immediately a cry of agony burst from his lips; and, starting up from the sofa, he exclaimed, "My leg! my leg! the—the devil's in it—and that's the fact!"
The fact was however somewhat different; for Mr. Frank Curtis, having very quietly and deliberately taken his breast-pin from the frill of his shirt, was amusing himself with the very pleasant pastime of thrusting the point into his uncle's leg.
On the third occasion of the application of the aforesaid breast-pin, Sir Christopher started up and danced about the room, while Miss Mordaunt, who was most anxious to bring the delicate topic of discourse to such a point that she might satisfy herself as to the very day on which she was to change her condition, endeavoured to her utmost to console him.
Convinced that the pain he experienced could be nothing more than some sudden but very galling spasmodic attack, neither Sir Christopher nor Julia entertained the least thought of looking beneath the sofa: they therefore re-seated themselves upon it, and continued their tender discourse.
"And when shall it be?" asked Sir Christopher, taking it for granted that it was to be.
"Whenever—that is—so soon—I mean—when you choose," murmured Miss Mordaunt. "But you will communicate your intentions to my brother, who obtained his captaincy a few days ago, and whom I must consult."
"And why consult him?" asked Sir Christopher, a misgiving entering his mind.
"Oh! he might—I do not say that he will—but he might object," answered Miss Mordaunt.